


Love Be My Villain

by mneiai



Series: Playing With Fire [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Jon Snow, Episode: 08x06 The Iron Throne, F/M, Mentions of Mass Murder, Not Beta Read, canon-typical incest, pyrophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-03-19 12:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18969181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Titles/series are from Digital Dagger's In Flames.People kept asking for a follow-up to my fic In Flames and I decided to try my hand at it lol I'm calling this one a multichapter fic, just in case.I've stretched out the timeline a bit more than the show did (like lol no major teleporting here).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Titles/series are from Digital Dagger's In Flames. 
> 
> People kept asking for a follow-up to my fic In Flames and I decided to try my hand at it lol I'm calling this one a multichapter fic, just in case.
> 
> I've stretched out the timeline a bit more than the show did (like lol no major teleporting here).

The buildings were still burning, the bodies were still smoking, and Jon was...Jon was having a hard time keeping control of himself as he saw Daenerys standing before her army, magnificent in the colors of their House.

A part of him was still horrified, but he'd done his best over the last few days, at Daenerys' direction, to discern whether he truly felt a certain way or simply believed he _should_. And now he wasn't sure of anything, he second-guessed every thought, every emotion.

Except that watching Daenerys on Drogon flying over the city, delivering fire and blood even to the innocents, had left Jon breathless and needy. He could not doubt that.

Daenerys must have realized such would happen, must have felt the same, because as soon as she was done having Tyrion dragged off to a cell, she had Jon brought to the mostly intact throne room of the Red Keep, alone.

She was already there, lounging on the throne that was their birthright, watching him with hooded eyes.

"My queen," he muttered, moving towards her, then stopping as she held up a hand.

"Take it all off."

He only hesitated for a moment, too excited to think through the ramifications of it, stripping awkwardly out of his armor. He stumbled closer to her as he did, until he knelt on the steps before her. What did it matter, he asked himself, what they did when only the Unsullied would know? They would not dare judge their Queen. No one had any right to judge them.

The smell from the fires had permeated the Keep and out the ruined wall and ceiling he could still hear them crackling. When he closed his eyes, he could see the flames. He'd never been so hard in his life.

"Come here." 

She grabbed his head as soon as he was close enough, pushing it down between her legs, and he realized she'd pushed up her skirts while he'd been distracted and that she wasn't wearing smallclothes, perhaps she hadn't been all day. He pressed his lips to her center, sliding his tongue along her soaking folds. 

"So good," she sighed. "Did you think of this, when you were out there? I thought of you, with Drogon's body hot and rough between my legs, I thought of all the things I'd make you do for me."

Jon moaned, moving faster, hands coming up to stroke her soft thighs, to delve inside of her. She hooked her legs over his shoulders, her hands harsh in his hair. The edge of the throne dug into his chest, but he ignored it--that would be one of the few bruises from this experience he could carry with pride.

"Those people, they deserved it. They embraced the Usurpers that murdered your siblings. They went along with Cersei, no matter what atrocities she visited upon the world. But now they won't be supporting her tyranny anymore, or anyone else like her. They're just...ash." 

Daenerys shuddered, coming, grinding against his face until she was finished. She pushed him away and he felt back to the floor, grimacing as he hit. Soon enough, he'd forgotten that pain, as she straddled him and sank down upon him with a vicious grin on her face.

"I wish...I wish I could have been up there with you," Jon muttered, distracted from his thoughts for only a moment as he pushed into her wet heat. "All the power...."

"Yes. Yes. I wish you'd been there, that you could have _felt_ it. Drogon and I were so lonely up there." 

She rocked upon him, her strong thighs easily moving her up and down just enough for her to take her pleasure from him. He didn't care, he'd get off either way, he knew, maybe even more strongly _because_ she was using him.

"We will set the world aflame, Aegon. We'll burn down the old and make way for our new empire. We'll bring fire and blood and reshape it all."

Wrong, wrong, this was all wrong, but the memories of the burning city, of her atop Drogon ruthlessly slaughtering so much of its population, got him closer to completion than any touch could.

"Dany," he gasped, twisting to move on top of her, but she held him down, gripping his wrists and holding them against the broken floor. "Dany!"

"Now, Aegon," she ordered, eyes blazing with the fire inside of her mind, and he came soon after, just before she cried out in pleasure.

He was filthy, he realized, as he assessed the situation, covered in the blood and soot of the battle and the dust and debris of the broken throne room. She had taken the time to clean herself, was immaculate above him, like a Valyrian goddess. How had anyone expected him to resist her?

She grinned down at him, lying down on him and sharing a lazy kiss. 

"We'll find more eggs," she finally murmured into the gloom of the throne room, their heavy breathing and the still-raging fires outside, the still-screaming civilians as her troops flushed them out, the only other sounds. "You'll be a rider again, Aegon. The Lannisters will not take that from you, not forever."

He shivered, imagining himself on the back of a dragon, flying over rebel keeps, over foreign cities. That fire once more under his control. He had never ridden Rhaegal against the living.

" _Please._ "

She laughed, standing and smoothing down her clothing. She called out to her Unsullied and they entered the room, helping him up so that they might escort him to her bedroom. He flushed, but they paid no mind to his state as he hastily put on enough of his clothing for the sake of proprietary. 

"I need to see to my court, sweet nephew, and you need a bath. We mustn't allow these Southern lords and ladies to think you're an unwashed barbarian."

Jon returned her smile, bowing slightly before following the Unsullied out. Daenerys had many things to do and if Jon stayed around her, with the city still burning around them, with Drogon so close by, he didn't think he'd be able to keep his hands off of her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one actually has like *gasp* plot stuff and Jon interacting with other people. Less smut, alas.
> 
> Next chapter will probably be the same, but with Dany. And more sex, probably.
> 
> A bunch of the dialogue in the first scene of this chapter is directly from the show or adapted from what was said in the show.

Jon liked Tyrion, even after everything, there was a part of him who would always appreciate his early friendship and advice. But now, alone in a cell with him (or as alone as Jon ever was these days, with Unsullied guards waiting just outside of the door), Jon mostly just wanted to laugh in his face.

"The moment the gates fell, the battle was over," Tyrion insisted, and Jon knew that was the truth, but a part of him no longer cared.

"She saw her friend beheaded! She saw my dragon shot down from the sky!" he countered, that empty, aching place inside of him where he and Rhaegal had just started to bond seeming more pronounced.

"And she burned down the city for it!"

"It's easy to judge when you're standing far from the battlefield!" He glared down at Tyrion, hands clenching at his sides. 

Tyrion, who leaned in, eyes narrowing, as if he thinks he's caught Jon, somehow. "Would you have done it?"

Jon almost, almost, laughs in his face. Would he have burnt those people? Would he have given in to Rhaegal's worst desires and just let go? Knowing how it would be between him and Daenerys once it was over, knowing how _good_ it would feel.

"You've been up there, on a dragon's back. You've _had that power_. Would you have burnt the city down?"

He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Fire and blood, didn't you say? Isn't that answer enough to you?"

"You won't say because you don't want to betray her, but you know the answer."

Scoffing, Jon turned back to the door. "You don't know me as well as you think you do, Tyrion Lannister. No better than you thought you knew your Queen."

No, betraying Daenerys would be listening to more of Tyrion's attempts to manipulate him. Would be letting the man live as he spouted out treason against their Queen.

If Daenerys wished it, Jon had no doubt the sort of atrocities he could commit.

***

He walked through the ruins of his ancestral castle for hours, afterwards, sorting through his thoughts. Daenerys brought out a part of him that he'd never known existed. Jon was starting to doubt any Targaryen's coin had ever been solely on "greatness" and not a bit on "madness," as it felt like the feelings inside of him were ingrained, primordial. That blood of the dragon had far more truth to it than naught. 

Arya found him staring out from a partially collapsed balcony at the Blackwater.

"You should head home, Arya. There's nothing left to do here but the boring work." 

"Winterfell isn't my home, not really, not anymore."

Jon looked over at his little sister--his favorite cousin with a snort. "You think, just because you can wear people's faces, that you're _that_ much more changed than Sansa? Than _Bran_?"

"Than you?"

"...Winterfell isn't my home." He held up his hand when she made to protest. "It's not, Arya, don't you see? My being there was to protect me, but it was all built on lies. Every stone in that place, all it does was remind me of the fact that my uncle never felt he could trust me with my own secrets."

"You know why."

"Do I? Do you? Tell me, Arya, what would make a man convinced a boy was mature enough to go die on the Wall, surrounded by murderers and rapists, but not mature enough to know his parents' names?"

She flinched back, just a bit, and now that he was looking he could see the cracks in her facade. She'd been so calm, so cold looking since she'd come back, but she was still just a young woman underneath it all. For all she could use their tricks, she was a failed Faceless Man, not a successful one.

"I love you, Arya, I always will. You're the little sister of my heart, even if you're not by my blood. But I'm _not_ a Stark, I never was. If the Battle of the Trident had gone just slightly different, I would have grown up the Prince of Summerhaul, not the Bastard of Winterfell. And...and...I can't just ignore that because I want to. I won't let myself, our Queen won't let me."

"Our Queen," Arya hissed, eyes narrowing, and Jon braced himself. "She's not our Queen, Jon, she's a monster! You saw what she did, how many innocent people she killed!"

"Aye, I did. And I ask you this, little sister--how many of the Freys were active parts of the plot against our family? How many of the Freys that you killed died simply because they sat back and let it happen?"

Her eyes were wide, now, though he couldn't read the emotions in them. "That's not--"

"Not the same? Isn't it? Cersei was a madwoman. A kinslayer. She blew up the Sept of Baelor! She was holding a throne she had no right to, not by blood or conquest. Yet what were these people doing? When she was weak, they had no problem flinging shit at her in the streets, but once she had power, suddenly their opinions changed?"

They were Daenerys' words, and Grey Worm's, and his own, too. They were memories of the mutiny against Lord Commander Mormont, against himself. Of the houses that chose to fight beside him and Sansa and the ones who kept to the Bolton bastard despite everything he'd done. 

"This isn't you, Jon. You'd never...you're a _good person_."

"We were raised the same, Arya, we both faced horrible things--lost ourselves, our identities. Wouldn't you say we should come out more similar than different?"

She looked as though she hadn't considered that, as if she'd thought, would have continued to think, that she was the only monstrous one of them. For all Jon was a bit embarrassed by his ranting, he'd be thankful if he could help her realize she was no worse than the rest of them.

"I know you can't understand it, Arya, not right now, at least. But Daenerys is a Targaryen and no worse than half her--my--ancestors. When Rhaenys went down over Dorne, what did her siblings do? Burn every keep and holdfast they could find in Dorne, not caring if they were emptied or not. No one suddenly decided to unbend the knee because they were too brutal. You _worshipped_ Visenya growing up, how many times did you play at being her with me?"

"That's...fair," she finally allowed. She looked out over the Blackwater, then turned, trying to get a view of the city through the rubble around them. "But, Jon, she's...she talked like she was going to keep doing this."

Sighing, he ran a hand over his beard, relaxing just a touch. "Think about it, Arya, how long will it take to get King's Landing back in order? And then Westeros itself? By the time all that work is done, I think I'll have had a chance to convince her to back down some."

He held out an arm to her and she came to him, pressing against his side, holding onto him like she was scared he'd disappear. How alone she must have been, he thought, not for the first time. He'd normally had people he was at least friendly with, but in Braavos, what had she had but assassins waiting for her to fail?

"If you don't want to go back to Winterfell, you can stay here," he murmured into her hair. "But there's trials to come and it won't be pretty."

" _You're_ staying here."

"Aye, well, it's the job of a King Consort to do so."

"King...you're marrying her?"

"What, you think no one would ever want to marry me?" he teased, giving a lock of her hair a tug.

She grumbled, poking him in the side where she knew he was ticklish. "That's not what I meant. I just...I didn't think you'd still....But you _are_ Targaryens, I guess."

"Dragons are back in the world, we don't know if those three would really be the last of them. Our blood is more important than ever."

"Dragons," she sighed. "I never did get to ride one."

Jon laughed, pulling back to see her surly face. How quickly he was reminded she was just a teenage girl, still, with so many hopes and dreams ahead of her, no matter what she thought.

"If I get another, I promise you'll go riding with me. The experience...I don't know what it's like, honestly, for other people, but for me it's...amazing."

"I'm fairly sure it's amazing for _anyone_ that goes flying. You're not _that_ special," she grumbled, but there was mirth sparking in her eyes and Jon knew that things would be okay between them, at least for now.

***

He found her in the throne room again. She'd had trustworthy workers clear away much of the debris and he knew that builders were surveying the Keep to decide what could be fixed, and how. As he'd told Arya, the amount of work that needed to be done would take a very, very long time.

Daenerys didn't speak, she just stood and motioned for him to follow, walking a ways until they were in a sort of solar, at least it was an intact room someone had dragged a desk and some chairs into.

"You went to speak with Tyrion."

"Aye, I did, your grace."

"And then you spoke with your cousin."

"That's true, as well, my Queen."

She stared at him for a long moment. "And did they sway your opinion, nephew?"

Shaking his head, he stepped closer, until he was beside her, beside the desk, and leaning back against it. "No, Aunt Dany, it did not." 

There was a forbidden-feeling thrill, still, in acknowledging their relationship. He was coming to realize he liked it, though he was thankful he'd never felt anything like it with the Starks.

"Arya Stark may be spared, if she makes no move against me. Sansa, however, must answer for her treason."

He flinched, ducking his head. After everything he and Sansa had accomplished, after how far they'd come, he didn't want to think of her dead.

"There's...other ways of dealing with her than dragon fire."

Daenerys gripped his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Oh? But isn't fire what you want, nephew? Imagine that pretty red hair, caught alight. Imagine her screaming, in that voice that judged you for being a bastard, that lied and betrayed you for siding with your rightful Queen."

Shuddering, Jon realized he could imagine it, Sansa burning, struggling against the inescapable flames. She, he thought, would never look so beautiful as in those moments.

With a laugh, Daenerys pushed him back against the edge of the desk and pulled him down into a kiss. She knew what he'd been thinking, she always seemed to, these days.

"We'll bring all the traitors fire and blood," she murmured against his lips. "We'll cleanse our kingdoms of those who would harm us. We need to, Aegon, if we, if our children, are ever to be safe."

If the idea of Sansa burning had made him hard, the idea of Daenerys having his children stoked the fire inside of him to even greater heights. 

His hands slid over her body, one cupping her breast, the other going between her legs, pressing the material of her skirts and smallclothes into her as he stroked. She shoved a thigh between his own legs, letting him rut against it.

"We'll execute the political prisoners tomorrow. Drogon, and I, and you." She rocked harder against his hand as she spoke of that and Jon thought the memory of Varys, of all the others she'd executed, was urging her on, too. "I will, ahh, I will not let them simper around their cells, looking for others to manipulate." 

He stayed quiet, sucking a mark into her neck, wanting everyone to know that she had a lover even if it would be a time before he was her husband. They were building a new world and no one would dare judge the Dragon Queen for impropriety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just to clarify--I don't think Dany was justified. She could have burnt the artillery and the gates and the initial combatants and called it a day and won all the same. As we saw, the Lannister forces were surrendering, and we can't think of them like the armies we have today, there wasn't really a standing army in that sense. A lot of them would have just been wanting to get back to their normal lives in the Westerlands. And certainly the smallfolk had actually tried to revolt against Cersei--that's what the entire High Sparrow arc was basically about, he only had power because he had the numbers--and they'd failed, so now they were just trying to survive her.
> 
> People like to make a huge deal about how we can't judge Westeros by our standards, but then that works both ways--we can't judge what's happening around 300 AC by the standards of what happened 300 years prior during the Conquest. Norms have changed, especially since no human alive had seen a dragon until Dany brought them back. Like not even Bloodraven was that old. However, I think the empty justifications that the fandom throws around about Dorne, and Harrenhal, and all of that, are the exact sort people would use in Westeros to defend Dany's actions. Thus why Jon decided to have one of his little monologues about it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany's POV, still finishing up episode 8x06 stuff.

Everything was finally going her way. After so much sacrifice, so much loss, the Iron Throne was hers. The Seven Kingdoms were hers. 

She couldn't wait for the throne room to be fixed to hold the executions, she knew everyday that went by the prisoners became more dangerous, were more likely to find someone to manipulate or bribe (she was still furious to know that Tyrion tried such on Aegon, though relieved for the proof that he was well and truly hers, now).

Instead there were no trials, there was no need. Let the people think they'd been done in private, if they liked, but she would not pander to their useless notions of honor and justice. She was a dragon, she did what she wished.

Her people, and a few others who were coming to terms with the new world order they now lived in, gathered in the Dragonpit. The prisoners, traitors and Cersei loyalists and simply some others that Daenerys knew better than to leave alive, were tied to stakes in the center.

"These people stand accused of conspiring against their rightful Queen, of working with the Usurper Cersei Lannister, of helping her stay free after attempting line theft, after committing kinslaying. These people have no place in the world that we are building, for they know only treachery!"

She stood on a platform, Grey Worm and Aegon behind her and to her sides. Asha would be in King's Landing in a few days, another loyal subject she could count on, and hopefully the Dornish prince would prove the same. Missandei not being there was like an ache in her soul, but she would persevere, as her friend would have wanted her to.

"For their crimes, they have been sentenced to death!"

She spared a look at her nephew, who was staring at her with dark eyes, a fire in them at odds with the cold expression he wore. To think, if she hadn't executed Varys as she had, if she hadn't awoken the dragon within Aegon and recognized that awakening, he might have betrayed her as well.

After raising her eyebrows at him, a quick movement to let him know she knew what he was thinking, she turned her attention back to the prisoners. 

"Let any who would think to betray their Queen, to break their oaths or support a Usurper, know that they will be cleansed from this world by fire and blood! Dracarys!"

Drogon's flame engulfed the prisoners, their screams not lasting long with the power of it. She gave a few more words, practiced and precise but absentminded in truth, and then took Aegon's arm and pulled him along with her.

It wasn't the same as burning the city had been, but that sense of righteous power was still there. Once they were far enough into one of the tunnels, with only Unsullied around them, she slammed Aegon against the wall beside them and pressed her body tight against his.

"You look so lovely in our house colors, nephew," she murmured, stroking her hands over the dragon sigil she'd directed him to wear. "Such a tease, watching me the way you were, but making no move to touch me."

"Dany...." 

His voice was soft, as it often was anymore, the broken edges plain to her. His mother's family had done that, the creature who had once been Brandon Stark had stripped Jon Snow of the lie of his identity but had made no move to ease him into it. And then his so-called sister, Sansa, had betrayed his trust and spread that information to who knew how many others. 

Aegon had been given no chance to fully adapt, but she was trying so hard to help him. The dragon inside of him that he'd been taught to suppress she would draw out, she would encourage, until he forgot how to even be a wolf.

"You're going to fuck me, nephew," she murmured, rubbing herself against him. "Right here. And then I'm going to go preside over court with your seed inside of me."

He groaned, rocking up into her, and she knew he wouldn't protest. She was training him so well.

***

Two weeks later the dragonpit was setup for a very different sort of event. There were canopies and seats for the eight kingdoms of Westeros, the central one of course the Crownlands, where she sat in a throne-like chair with her nephew beside her.

Around them the kingdoms, or what was left of them, were represented. 

Both Sansa and Brandon had come from the North, along with Lord Manderlay and a few others. Daenerys did not know where Arya Stark was, a thought that would normally scare most people except that Aegon insisted he'd talked sense into her. Daenerys was glad, as she'd need someone to give Winterfell to and continue the Stark line.

Asha had brought a delegation of her own, her Uncle Rodrick Harlaw and other men she trusted, after she'd performed a purge of her kingdom. She had already bent the knee again to Daenerys, and had the lords with her do the same, and was reporting any disloyalty she heard.

And, of course, Gendry had come with Davos, Ser Brienne, and a few more Stormlords. She could count on him, his entire lordship, his legitimacy, depended on him acknowledging her as Queen, after all. He had greeted her with enthusiasm that was clearly not shared by Ser Brienne, a matter Grey Worm knew to watch closely.

From the Riverlands, the just-freed Edmure Tully was in attendance along with the few surviving minor lords. It had been amusing for Daenerys to realize that none of his nieces or nephews had bothered freeing him and instead it was her own forces he now owed for such, along with the return of his wife and child. She'd made sure to remind him of that by having the guards assigned to him be many of the soldiers that had been there to free him.

Little Robert Arryn from the Vale was accompanied by quite a few of his lords--they'd stayed out of the War of Five Kings, she knew, and had only sent a fraction of their knights North for the Great War. He would be difficult because he was unpredictable, but between herself and Aegon, and the willful child's interest in Drogon (and his seemingly sincere interest in having a chance to watch Drogon burn people), Daenerys thought they'd have the Vale, as well.

The Westerlands had sent many representatives, though none stood out as particularly powerful. The same could be said of the Reach, though Daenerys had been advised by the few Westerosi she now trusted on which families there would be good to have on her side, such as the Hightowers. She noticed that Samwell Tarly was among them, however, and seethed at the sight of him--she had been hoping she might kill him quietly, with Jon never needing to know, but the fool might push her into it.

Dorne...well, she wasn't sure how she felt about this Yronwood prince. The old enemies of the Martells, the way the Boltons were to the Starks, and yet there were no trueborn Martells left after the carnage Ellaria had visited on their last prince, only young bastard girls. She'd wait and see what he did, what he was like, but she thought there were many ways to twist him to her purposes.

"I thank you all for answering the call of your true Queen and attending this momentous event. For too long the Seven Kingdoms have existed in anarchy, with no central power to attend to all of the individual kingdoms' needs. But that period is over and the rightful rulers, the Targaryens, have been restored. With it will come the peace and prosperity that Westeros knew before."

She stood before them, smiling serenely as Drogon circled in the sky, his shadow falling over them again and again. Most of them seemed unnerved and she was glad of that--let them never grow comfortable in their positions, let them know they were always a moment away from her wrath if they misstepped. 

"We are here to resolve a number of problems, to fill vacant positions and restore rights. Over the next week, I will hold audiences with all of you so that I might better know what I, as your Queen, can do to assist your people. But today I have brought you all together to discuss the announcements that are already settled." 

She walked back to the Crownlands pavilion, nodding to the dragonseed nobles upon it. For once it was Aegon who looked out of place in Westeros, lacking the pale hair and bright eyes of Valyria. Still, she thought it highlighted the features of his that were clearly not Stark--the small stature, the 'pretty' face. When the light hit his hair just so, brightening it for a moment, she could see her brothers in him.

Gesturing, she mentally smirked as he immediately obeyed, coming to stand beside her. "I would like to introduce you all to my nephew, Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of my brother Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark."

Murmurs broke out, but her eyes were on the Northern representatives. Brandon still looked placid and unconcerned, but Sansa was tense, her nails clearly digging into the arms of her chair. She had expected Daenerys to keep that secret, to be able to use that information to undermine her rule.

"And, with that, I would like to announce our betrothal." She took Aegon's hand in hers, fingers joining together, and held them up as a symbol of their unity. "Now more than ever, with my returning dragons to the world, it is important to keep our bloodline strong. Our wedding will take place in a fortnight. Immediately after he shall be crowned King Consort."

"Excuse me, your grace," Tarly looked like just saying that phrase was painful and Daenerys fought not to clench her teeth at the interruption. "But...shouldn't he be King Regnant, given his status as Rhaegar's son?"

Aegon spoke before she could, stepping just a little forward to draw their attention. "Aerys named Viserys his heir after my father fell in battle and the Queen was Viserys' heir. I come after her in the line of succession." He gave a tight smile, eyes flickering around the faces staring him down. "And I don't particularly want to be King, either. If it's necessary, I would formally cede my rights to the throne to Queen Daenerys."

She stroked her fingers over his palm, rewarding him for his words, a promise in her eyes when they met his. With a nod, she sent him back to his seat. Sansa's eyes were closed, squeezed shut as thought she could block out what was happening. Daenerys thought she'd have a good laugh later, remembering that expression.

"Does anyone else have any questions about my nephew that you wish addressed right now?" 

When no one tried to speak again, she moved onto Gendry's lordship and other matters they would all need to know.

When the sun was nearing its peak in the sky, Daenerys finally dismissed them all. There would be a feast that night, but the rest of the afternoon was theirs. She was glad she'd planned it that way, wanting nothing more than a few private moments without the risk of their backstabbing.


End file.
